Timing
by Natasha-Von-Lecter
Summary: Carol's date is interrupted by a knock at her door. She doesn't mind. Thanks to my fabulous beta, la tante, and the wonderful nattysxm for her prompt suggestion. Written for deltacephei in the Yuletide 2008 Challenge.


Carol Jordan tries to concentrate on the soft lips pressed against hers, but a sharp rapping sound draws her attention away from her paramour. She breaks the kiss, her head swiveling to face the door. The rain beats down on her roof in an insistent cadence. The man on the couch next to her moves his lips down her neck, but she does not turn back to face him. Then, the knock again. Erratic, urgent, familiar.

She mutters "Sorry. I have to get that," and disengages from her companions arms. The knocking continues and she quickens her step. She doesn't bother looking through the peephole - She knows him by the sound of his fist against her door. She undoes the lock and draws the door inwards. She is greeted by the sight of a wet, bedraggled Tony Hill, a plastic bag cradled in one arm, a take out sack grasped firmly in his teeth, his hand outstretched in an aborted attempt to pound on her door.

He tries to say her name, by way of greeting but is thwarted by the bag in his mouth. She'd know what he was saying if he was mute. He takes the bag from his teeth with his now free hand and awkwardly shuffles in from the rain.

"I've been thinking about the cane marks left on the back of Sandra Bogarde's thighs. They were exceptionally uniform, which would indicate that she didn't struggle when they were aplied. And if he'd tied her down so she couldn't move, we'd have found ligature marks. I think it was consensual, Carol. I mean, at least at that point in the proceedings. Which means he knew her. You should get Kevin and Paula to check out the local S&M clubs. Someone will have seen Sandra and her Killer together."

"You're sopping wet."

He looks confused for a moment, then shakes his head, looking down at the puddle he's left on her entryway. He smiles sheepishly at her and then presses the paper sack into her arms.

"I was picking up dinner when it hit me, and I rushed right over to tell you. I would have gotten here quicker and in a dryer state if I had remembered that I drove to the take away. Have you eaten?"

She sets the bag down on the floor, carefully avoiding the wet spot on her floorboards.

"I'll get you a towel."

The sound of a throat clearing startles the pair of them. Carol barks out a sharp laugh to cover her embarrassment at having forgotten the man formerly sitting on her couch.

"Andrew! Sorry."

Tony cocks his head sideways, regarding the stranger cautiously. He makes no move to approach. Andrew, better schooled in social conventions, proffers his hand and a hearty "Andrew Harrington. You must be..."

"Tony Hill," both Tony and Carol reply in unison. It dawns on Tony that he should take the hand hovering in the air before him. He reaches for it, but his plastic bag slips down his arm. The handshake is awkward. The bag cuts into his wrist. He pulls his hand back and drops the bundle to the floor with a thud. It lands directly in the puddle.

"Shit!"

Tony drops to his knees and extricates his paperwork from the wet. Carol looks down on the top of his head, and in spite of herself, she laughs.

"This wouldn't happen if you'd get a proper briefcase."

"Oh, I'd just leave it on the bus."

"Most likely."

Carol remembers her manners and turns back to her date. "Look, Andrew, I'm really sorry but I need to..."

Andrew nods, and lays his hand on her shoulder. The gesture does not escape Tony's notice.

"Right. Shall I call you?"

She takes to long to answer. Her pause speaks volumes.

"I'll call you."

"Right." He nods to Tony, picks up his umbrella, and slips out the front door. Carol grabs the sack of take away and heads into the kitchen. Tony follows her dumbly, and catches the towel she throws at him.

"Shall I put the kettle on?"

"Thanks, Carol."

"So, what else have you got for me?"

"Nothing, apart from red curry and saag paneer. There WAS naan, but I have a feeling it might be a bit soggy."

She turns to look at him. He can't tell if she is disbelieving or or amused.

"You ran half way across town in this deluge to tell me me to send Paula and Kevin out to S&M clubs? You could have just called. You do have a mobile, you know."

Her words are prickly, but her smile tells him that she is only gently chiding him.

"I can't find it. I think I may have left it in my car."

The kettle whistles, and Carol pours the steaming water over the little round packet of PG Tips. Tony takes plates down from her cupboards and dishes out the food he's brought. He doesn't ask her what she'd like - he knows her tastes by now.

They retire to the couch, where Carol was trysting just a few moments earlier. She doesn't miss Andrew. He was nice enough - good looking, funny, smart. Objectively she realizes he would qualify as a "good catch" but she knows better than to try to apply society's expectations to her life. She'd throw back a thousand good catches for the man sitting beside her.

"Carol?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your lipstick is smeared."

She blushes and wipes at her mouth with her napkin. Realization dawns on him.

"Were you...did I interrupt...Was he a date?"

"Third date, actually."

Without thinking he blurts out, "Isnt that the one where the girl's supposed to put out?"

She laughs, at him, at her, at they way they dance around things.

"That's one way to look at things."

He looks down, suddenly very sober.

"I'm sorry, Carol."

"Don't be."

"I shouldn't have come over without calling. I just...sometimes I don't think."

"Don't apologize, Tony. It wasn't going anywhere. He's a perfectly nice man, and I like him well enough, but we both know I should know better than to try to inflict myself on an normal man."

"You go in for those fascinating abnormal types then, do you?"

"I hang out with you, don't I?"

He understands that she is teasing him, and tries to appreciate the humor. Still, he can't help but feel a little guilty. If he is entirely honest with himself, he will admit that he heard her speaking about dinner on the phone this afternoon in her office. And while he didn't intentionally seek to interrupt her rendez-vous, it is also the truth that his revelations could have easily waited until the morning.

"So, if you know it's over before it begins, why do you waste your time?"

She mulls over his question for a moment.

"Sometimes I just get..."

"Yes, Carol?"

"Lonely, I suppose. Hungry for some human contact."

He looks at her then, those intense blue eyes, and she thinks she sees a flicker of yearning that makes her heart beat a little faster. He moves closer to her, and tentatively lays his hand on her shoulder.

"You can always call me, Carol."

She lays her hand against his and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Thanks, Tony," she says, and she means it.

"After all, I'm about as far from normal as you can get."

She reaches for the bottle of wine on the coffee table and regards the label.

"This looks like good stuff, and Andrew obviously won't be back for it. Would you like to help me drink it?"

A bright, genuine smile lights the corners of his eyes. Without a word he walks to the kitchen in search of a corkscrew. And she thinks that he's really rather handsome when he smiles.

He rejoins her, opener in hand. The satisfying pop of the cork is quickly followed by the gentle gurgle of their glasses being filled. They clink rims together and drink.

"You might want to rethink dismissing Adam. This wine tastes expensive."

"Andrew. It is good though, isn't it?"

He nods. They make quick work of their first glasses in companionable silence. Twenty minutes pass before he finds a need to speak.

"I hope the rain lets up soon - I've got quite a ways to go to get back to my car."

"Oh, leave it Tony," she says, waving her hand in the air. She takes another, larger sip of her wine. "It's cats and dogs out there and you're already tipsy. Just stay the night with me and I'll drop you by your car in the morning."

"DCI Jordan, what kind of man do you take me for?"

"The kind that's smart enough to not mess about and just do as you're told."

He laughs and pours out the rest of the bottle between them. They're both flushed now, spirits high with Bacchanalian glee. Carol contemplates opening another bottle, but her good judgement wins out in the end. Instead she slips her hand into Tony's and tugs him off the couch. He stumbles slightly - he's not drunk, but he is disoriented by the nearness of her.

"Come along, Dr. Hill. I don't want any trouble out of you."

Carol pulls fresh sheets and a blanket out of the linen cabinet, and guides him to her spare room. They don't speak - they work together in a silent understanding. They make up the bed neatly but not too tidily. And then, there's nothing left to do. No reason for her to continue to enjoy his close proximity. Still, she hangs back a moment - It feels odd, to her, making up the guest room for him. He's not a guest in her house - he's as much part of her home as the furniture or the front stoop.

"Night then," she says.

"Goodnight, Carol," comes his reply, immediately preceding an unexpected gesture from her dear friend. A gentle kiss,placed on her forehead. So maddeningly chaste that she suspects it is artifice. So achingly tender that she wants to cry. Instead she lays a hand aside his face, then retreats from the room.

Their timing's never right. More than anything, she'd like to lead him to her room and lay him down across her bed. To kiss him and whisper to him that she'd like him to stay. But not tonight. She couldn't deal with a misunderstanding. Doesn't want to be able to blame the wine later. Couldn't bear for him to think she was just in a randy mood and willing to settle for him since her earlier companion had been dispatched.

She enters her room, and slips off her clothes. She leaves her door open just a crack - she wonders if she'll be able to hear him breathing. Pulling back the covers and slipping inside, Carol Jordan beds down for the night. She thinks of him, just on the other side of the wall, and she hopes that one day the timing will be right. That one day their tender moments won't be consigned to hands, and cheeks and foreheads. That one night it won't occur to them to make up the spare bed when her bed is surely big enough to comfortably sleep two.

But no matter how much she might wish it, tonight is not that night. Tonight she sleeps on the other side of the wall, comforted by the wind and the rain and the sound of his breathing.


End file.
